


after a long while

by afellowofyellow



Series: magic is in understanding someone [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Before Sunrise Fusion, Coming of Age, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Oc's mentioned - Freeform, One Shot, Romance, can't be read alone but yOlo, course of one evening, lovers to strangers to lovers (again), sequel to in a few years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afellowofyellow/pseuds/afellowofyellow
Summary: Kunhang and Dejun find each other in the same town they'd left in pursuit of their futures, but will they hold the same connection they'd had all those years before - especially with all the changes within the pair?or// a sequel to in a few years - Kunhang and Dejun find each other in a bookshop.
Relationships: Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Series: magic is in understanding someone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836574
Comments: 17
Kudos: 40





	after a long while

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to [in a few years](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276273)
> 
> i would definitely say read that first ! this has spoilers and you may not understand what's going on :^/

☼

_let me sing you a waltz_

_out of nowhere, out of my thoughts_

Kunhang glanced over the novels lining the bookstore walls as he spoke, different shades of browns and reds blurring together like the autumn leaves that drifted slowly downward behind the clear glass windows, riding the air like waves in their slow descent. He continued to stare out the window as he spoke, his eyes glazed into a trance of remembrance toward the question directed to him.

_What led you to write your book?_

Kunhang could remember the heat of May, the humidity of a place he’d nearly escaped but could never forget, as he’d ventured through the wetted streets of spring rain, his side cold and his hands clenching over empty air.

He could remember the _devastation_ in his heart – the confusion that had led to a novel built off spite and longing. It had led to the words of a boy he’d begun to think he’d dreamt up. It was a novel that crafted what should have been – what could have been. When, in reality, all Kunhang had was what truly was.

He grinned at the woman before him, the charming curve of his smile dusting her cheeks with a powder of pink, and she answered with her own grin, urging him to answer her prompting with the plump apples of her cheeks and the stark white of her teeth. Kunhang wondered whether a long-lost boy’s chin still dimpled with his grin. The woman shifted with impatience, her eyes were wide and searching as they matched the timbre of her voice – dreamlike with expectation.

“I believe it was just a moment in time where I saw a life through another’s lens and believed it a story worth writing. In my life I’ve only ever experienced places where _I’ve_ been, I’ve never seen something without understanding it in my own way, so I wanted to capture a sort of connection that _I_ would’ve made, as myself, and interpret it through the other’s lens. Does that make any sense?”

She glanced over his shoulder, her eyes focused on the shelves behind his seat as she pursed her lips with thought. She seemed to mull over his words for a moment, formulating her own response with the author’s fleeting explanation.

“Mr. Wong, I think you misunderstand me. Let me rephrase: have you experienced what you’ve written? Was there ever a night where you spent it alongside a boy you’d never met?” her eyes were wet with curiosity as she leaned forward, flicking them between his own as he rose his eyebrows in amusement.

_you were, for me, that night_

_everything I always dreamt of in life_

“Miss, I can tell you that – if there were, it would not have been the night itself that inspired me to write such.”

“How do you mean?”

Kunhang barked a laugh, tracing his eyes over the walls as he pondered his own words. They were painted a slate gray, drab in comparison to the vibrant oranges of Georgia’s late October sky, and he leant his head backward, his chin pointing to the darkened ceiling.

“You asked what led me to write my story and connected it to whether it was autobiographical. Whether it was autobiographical is not the reason I wrote it – even if I had experienced as the characters do, the story itself as it is in the book is not why I wrote my novel,” he smiled softly and raised his shoulders in a shrug as she narrowed her eyes playfully.

“Mr. Wong, I will take that as a yes to my question.”

Kunhang grinned, laughing brightly as she levelled him with her harsh scrutiny. She crossed her thigh across a knee and leaned back slightly as he rested his head against the swivel chair and tapped his feet over the hardwood bookstore floor with untapped anticipation. “Take it as you like.”

“We have time for one last question,” Kunhang flicked his eyes to the older man beside him, his neck twisting slightly to bring him into view. The man’s hair was white atop his scalp and tugged the sleeves of his suit further over his hands as he addressed the novelist. “Mr. Wong’s flight leaves in a few hours and we must get him to the airport with time to spare.”

Kunhang turned his head slightly, readying toward the final onslaught of questioning, and his eyes caught on a head of dark hair. A boy lifted a hand from the doorway in a nervous gesture, waving the fingers slightly and pulling his lips away into a soft beam. His chin dimpled with the expression.

Kunhang’s chest thrummed, the tempo whirring with torrent of a hummingbird’s wings – anticipation swirling.

“So, what led you to write your novel? What happened four years later?”

_but now you’re gone_

_you are far gone_

Kunhang glanced back toward the woman, his eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. “What happened to the characters is ambiguous – it’s up to the reader. You, a romantic it seems, would like to believe they do meet – and that’s fine. Or maybe they don’t, but that’s up to you to decide. It’s written to show a difference in perspective, and in the end the final perspective is your own belief on what happens next. It’s left unknown for a reason.”

“But how about in your story, what happened with this boy that led you to publish your writing if not for any reason written in there?” she gesticulated to the novel that lay on the desk.

Kunhang sighed, smiling with a soft shake of his head. He flicked his eyes to the occupied doorway tentatively. “I was left to wonder whether any of it had happened at all.”

Kunhang stood, pushing his chair back with a grin to the woman before he stepped through the thin hallway, books lining the shelves and pushing it narrow, until he reached the boy there. His hair was dark, a shade of chocolate that blended with the rich brown of wet bark, and sat messily over his forehead in soft curls. The bold of his eyebrows arched in a perfect shape of curiosity.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Kunhang cocked his head, his brow knit together in mirthful bemusement. He rubbed his thumb along the length of his index, focusing on the steady rhythm in hopes to slow the pulse of his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I live here,” he lifted a hand, the palm pointed toward the ceiling as it pushed air apart and gestured upward, “and I like this bookstore.” Kunhang nodded slowly, turning back to glance over the shelves as though expecting to see a piece of evidence, something that pointed to a clear sign that this was _Dejun’s_ – that he frequented it before Kunhang had ever arrived and that he’d missed. He met the manager’s eye.

“Would you like to get coffee?” he turned back to Dejun and the boy smiled softly.

“I would, but,” he nodded his head to the white haired man, “hadn’t he said you had a flight to catch?”

Kunhang lifted his wrist to glance at the gold-plated watch placed there, glinting in the stream of afternoon sunshine that poured through the tall windows. “I have until seven thirty, there’s time.” Kunhang lifted a hand and pointed his thumb behind him. “I’ll just go let him know?”

Dejun nodded, his lips pressed into a tight grin and his eyebrows narrowed to form a soft wrinkle over his forehead, deepened with age. “Alright. I can wait outside.”

☼

_all the way to your island of rain_

_it was for you just a one night thing_

The streets were wet as Kunhang bounded down the steps to the store, approaching Dejun’s form as he turned to glance toward him. The buildings were awash in the golden-yellow glow of sunset and it deepened the ivory of the boy’s skin to a bronzed tan. Kunhang shot him a grin.

“So, where did you want to go?”

“There’s a nice coffee shop I know, we could head there?” Kunhang nodded, his eyes tracking the passers-by on the street as a light breeze tickled across his nose. He sniffled slightly and started after Dejun’s pace.

“So, how’d you end up finding me?”

Dejun shrugged, slanting his eyes to meet Kunhang’s as he walked. “I told you I like the shop – they had fliers up about your signing. I thought I might come,” he twisted around quickly, surveying Kunhang’s complexion with a gaze that seared. “Is it alright that I did?”

“Of course. I’m actually glad I got to see you – was beginning to believe it was all some sort of ‘pent up nerves induced fever dream’.” Dejun spouted a laugh and nodded, the grin remaining over his lips.

“No, well… Actually,” Dejun stopped abruptly, turning hastily to face Kunhang dead on. He turned to face the boy’s conflicted expression. “It’s bothering me-” Kunhang screwed his brows together, “-did you show up?”

Kunhang’s heart dropped and he continued walking, his throat tightening with agitation. “You mean those years ago?”

“Yeah.”

He swallowed tersely, “Yeah.”

Dejun groaned beside him, fisting a hand through his hair. “God, I’m so sorry. I’ve felt awful thinking about it – that you were there alone. I promise I meant to show up – in all honesty, I did – but I had a really important job interview and then training. I had a train ticket booked and everything – but then… I couldn’t pass up on the offer. _God_ , you must think me a horrible person.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Did you hate me? God, you must hate me.”

“You’re swearing to God an awful lot.”

“It’s become a habit – I’m sure you hate me.”

_but you were much more to me, just so you know_

“I don’t hate you. I assumed something must have happened that got in the way. It’s not like we exchanged numbers.”

Kunhang watched from the corner of his eye as Dejun twisted his head to look at him. He met his stare. The dark shade of his brows furrowed with the tilt of his chin toward his chest and he screwed up his nose as their eyes clashed. Kunhang laughed at his hesitation. “Why _didn’t_ we? That was dumb.” Dejun straightened his spine and Kunhang remained silent as they continued forward. “What did you end up doing there alone?”

He gulped. “I wandered around for the night, took the same path we did. I wanted to remember it all in case I’d made some sort of mistake – wanted to look for a sign you’d even existed.”

“Why’d you write your book? I read it – it’s… well written?”

Kunhang released a loud exhale in the form of a chuckle. “You didn’t like it?”

“I just thought it was a bit biased.”

“In what way?”

Dejun shrugged, leaning his head backward to stare toward the sky. “Well, I mean…” he trailed off with thought, “you made it seem rather different from how I remember. Kind of like I – my character, maybe – was betrayed by the world and you were the only fix… or something… It’s a bit awkward to talk about.”

“I was trying to make it a different narrative – write it how I thought you saw it – and there was a little bit of… anger toward you-” _turn here_ , Kunhang started down the opposite street, “-while I wrote it. My editor managed to twist it to be more romantic and it sort of became a lot different.”

Dejun winced. “If you were angry with me why’d you write it?”

“Like I said, I needed to make sure my memories were real. Writing it made it that, and I could remember everything that had happened.”

“I think I can understand that – I kept a journal,” he lifted a hand to point toward a small café, the awning a wine-stained red, shrouded in a mural of browning leaves. “This is it; we’ll be able to seat ourselves.”

☼

_I just want another try, I just want another night_

_even if it doesn’t seem quite right_

The café was quaint, soft music flitting through the air with the lilt of piano keys that seemed to run over Kunhang’s skin as the air on his arms rose, and Dejun seated them further in the back.

A window rose behind the pair; a town-square paved with cobblestone sprawled outside the coffee shop, a few passers-by stepping through the area between the small shops. The afternoon sun had lowered to drape gold over the pair – a world of sunset yellows and autumn oranges. The leaves that lined the streets were damp from the drizzle that had fallen prior and glinted refractions of light like little stars that scattered the streets.

They were stars within reach.

Kunhang turned to his coffee, swirling the dark liquid in the porcelain cup until the sides were coated brown with the thick liquid. He took a sip. It sat in a bitter coat over his tongue and rested warmly in his stomach as he swallowed.

“This café’s my favorite because you get to people-watch,” Kunhang turned to Dejun as he spoke, watching the soft smile pull at his lips as he stared out the window. “There’s a small breakfast café similar to this one – though I find the food there better – over there,” he nodded his head slightly to the left of Kunhang and he shifted as if to spot it through the window. “It’s called _Peaches_ – don’t know if you’ve been? I’ve gone since I was kid.”

Kunhang shook his head, turning back to where Dejun rested the point of his elbow on the table, his chin resting in his palm. “Didn’t you say you’d booked a train ticket to meet me here?” Dejun nodded, his brow scrunched together. “Have you not been here the whole time?”

Dejun grunted, flicking his eyes to stare toward the small fountain that rested in the center of the vast plaza. “I moved to New York for a while and I’ve been travelling a lot. I moved back here because my parents have gotten a lot older and need someone to care for them, you know?”

Kunhang nodded, “I see, I’m sorry – that your parents aren’t doing too well,” Dejun shrugged.

“Happens to everyone, I suppose. How long have you been in Georgia?”

“I was in Atlanta just yesterday for only the one day and then I headed here. I wanted to make sure I visited the town the book is based on.”

“It is a bit of a small town for a book tour,” Dejun snorted and he nodded, surveying the grin that morphed the brown haired boy’s face with the scrunch of his nose. He hummed, glancing to the dark coffee in his cup.

“So what do you do then – if you’ve been travelling a lot?”

Dejun tipped his head back slightly, his nose pointed to the ceiling as he rolled his neck over his shoulders and straightened, sipping from his own teacup. “I joined the Peace Corps, so it wasn’t so much a job as it was a community service. Currently I’m teaching at the local university.”

“That’s interesting. What sorts of people did you work with – and where?”

“Mostly schools and education. I went to Honduras for a while and I did a bit in Grenada. I worked mostly with working students – only about a third of working children complete primary school so I got to volunteer and provide an education to those there…” he trailed off, his eyes tracking the ceiling as he fell silent. The sunlight that streamed through the windows seemed to veil the café in sepia tones and Kunhang glanced outside to the trees that spilled with similar colors. “It’s interesting to see – how there are kids everywhere in the world that have so many capabilities, and even the means to accomplish it, but have been raised on little to no desire to do so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that there are people who’ve been raised on different ideals than us – who have no desire to change the world and get praise or publicity – but they have all the means to do something great. Or I’ve seen the opposite as well. In that line of work you see children with these dreams to do something, and with the ego and capability and _intelligence_ to become a leader, and some of them are in no situation to be able to conquer it.”

Kunhang hummed, “Does it make you happy to be able to make somewhat of a change?”

“I suppose so. Though, at the same time I despised it. As a teacher I’m supposed to be shaping my students’ lives, but I feel like I’m only making a dent. I think I’d like to ask _them_ if _they’re_ happy – though, I suppose if they have all the means to achieve something, yet no desire to do so, they have to be happy with life.”

“Are we ever truly happy with life? In the places you’ve been you’ve dealt with children who’ve grown up with so little, they probably don’t believe as you do that those sorts of things are within reach.”

Dejun hummed. “That does make sense. Life without desire would be… well, nirvana.” Kunhang barked a laugh, watching as a grin slid over Dejun’s mouth once more. He sobered slowly, a smile of contentment remaining in a lick over his lips and he leaned over the table slightly, his hands gripped over the coffee cup in pursuit of its warmth.

“Can you believe it’s been nine years?”

Dejun’s eyes widened, “No – it has not, no way.” Kunhang nodded, his mouth pursed in thought.

“So, what have you done? Other than write a book about ‘not me’?”

“I was in New York for a while as well-”

“When?”

“Uh,” Kunhang slanted his eyes to the table beside theirs in thought. It was occupied by an elderly couple and he sent them a tight smile as their eyes clashed with his. “Two years ago? I believe.”

Dejun’s eyes shot upward, his mouth dropping open with an exhaled laugh. “We were there around the same time then. It’s a wonder why we didn’t run into each other then.”

Kunhang shot Dejun a small beam, his eyebrows lifted solemnly. “Life’s full of those.”

☼

“Well, I guess this is it – you don’t want to miss your flight.”

Kunhang glanced up from his stare pointed to his feet, eyes assessing Dejun’s form where he ran a hand through the waves of bangs. The boy’s gaze was trained on shop corners, the jagged pieces of brick that crumbled around the bend of the buildings, and Kunhang wanted to ask where his thoughts wandered. He wanted to know whether Dejun had grown to feel indifference towards Kunhang’s absence.

Kunhang hadn’t.

He lifted his wrist and checked the time there, humming with practiced thought before looking up as though pondering something. He had already made up his mind.

“I have time – I’d like to walk you home, it’d make me feel better. Besides, do you have a phone?” a nod, “I can just call someone to pick me up there and take me to the airport.” Dejun glanced down the street, presumably in the direction of his house as though he could see an answer painted across his door, before he nodded, swinging around and walking in the opposite direction.

“So where do you live now?”

Kunhang hummed, glancing upward toward the slowly lowering sun where blazing trails of golden rays streaked across the horizon. “California, it’s where my publishing company is and I thought I’d get as far from here as possible.”

“Because of me.”

you meant for me much more than anyone I’ve met before

one single night with you is worth a thousand with anybody

“Not necessarily. Yes, memories did seem to chase me around while I was still here but I also just didn’t want to stay somewhere so familiar.”

“Memories can be quite painful – true that some are wonderful but… I tried to forget that night myself.”

Kunhang blanched, his feet faltering slightly before he picked up his pace once more. “You tried to forget it?”

He hummed, “I think of how hopeful and excited I was those few years and then… well, I don’t know, the thought of it all is kind of depressing. And since then I haven’t felt that again. I think, because of that one night, my chances of being happy – of ever experiencing something, a _connection_ , like that again are ruined. So, yeah, I tried to forget it so I could find someone who made me happy enough.”

“You’re not happy?”

“I’m not _unhappy_. Life has simply become a constant state of drowse with no excitement comparable to then. I have no expectation that I will ever meet someone who makes me feel as our connection did - does.”

Kunhang remained silent, albeit a bit flustered, and his hands swung to brush against his hips as he walked, the rhythm grounding with each sweep. He wondered if he’d experienced the same – if every love affair he’d engaged in had simply been running on the fumes spurred by the aftermath of Dejun.

_I have no bitterness, my sweet_

_I’ll never forget this one night thing_

“I suppose we can change that sour memory though – now that we’ve met again.” He paused. “The older I get, the more memories I have that I don’t think happened. But then, when I tell my parents, they turn out to be moments from my childhood. I guess inevitably almost every memory will end up that way – and I think, in a way, I tried to forget that night completely so I’d never have a moment where it’d return and I’d feel the regret and discontent that I do know.

“But now that we’ve met again I don’t have to feel the regret – towards not showing up or exchanging numbers – and we can continue the memory. They don’t ever end, really – memories.”

Kunhang slanted an eye toward Dejun, allowing a small grin to curl the corners of his lips. He sighed, “If tonight were our last memory – if we were to die – what would you do?”

“Probably the same as I am now – I might skip out on the sad talks but I wouldn’t try and do something crazy. After all, tonight could be my last night anyway.”

He nodded, “That’s fair.”

“What about you?”

“Probably the same as you – maybe, these conversations would be in the midst of repeated fits of _passion_. Take you back home-”

“Why even bother? If you’re going to die, why not just do it right here, in the streets?”

Kunhang snorted, gripping onto Dejun’s palm and tugging him to knock into his side. He slipped a hand around his waist, “Is that a suggestion?”

The boy watched as the color of Dejun’s face darkened, a scarlet kiss similar to the sunset skies sprinkling his nose like sifted flour. Kunhang worried his lips for a moment – regret toward his statement flooding him as the boy leaned slightly away and he dropped his hand. Dejun was a miracle and a surprise Kunhang wanted to keep – and for as long as possible. He’d shown up as though forced by fate repeatedly and he wouldn’t let the boy be pushed away by his antics.

“It’s a turn here.”

Kunhang followed Dejun as he turned down a small alleyway, brick buildings lining the path closely before it opened into a small courtyard before a set of apartments. Dejun slowed to a stop and glanced to Kunhang. The expression over his face was drawn in, his mouth curled into a tentative smile with the slight furrow of his brows, and he shrugged. “It’s only a little ways away from here – and you’d better head back, or call a cab.”

Kunhang shook his head, not bothering to check the time that ticked away over his watch as he had done so before, and he spoke with reassurance, “It’s fine. I’d like to walk you to your door – to make sure you get in alright.”

Dejun narrowed his eyes before he released a sigh, the hair that hung over his eyes shifting in the sudden breeze gently. “If you’re sure… because you don’t have to.”

“I’d like to,” Kunhang began further into the court, cocking his head in the direction he headed. “It’s this way?” Dejun didn’t answer, instead he matched Kunhang’s pace until the backs of their hands brushed together in jolts of sensitivity that warmed him to the core like a match had been dropped down his throat to burn in the acids of his stomach.

The sky was amber and the skin of Dejun’s neck glowed orange as Kunhang glanced over him, shadows dancing like figures dressed in black around them. The dark was elegant in its ballet, the silhouettes of falling leaves performing a _pas de deux_ over the asphalt as they twirled in a descent to rest on the wetted street. It appeared ethereal.

But Kunhang thought nothing compared to the boy that walked beside him.

_even tomorrow in other arms, my heart will stay yours until I die_

☼

_let me sing you a waltz_

“This is it.”

A small apartment, brick walling lining alongside a short, slate gray door, lay behind Dejun as he turned back toward Kunhang. He wore a shy smile, his hands that lay at his side upturned and pulled away from his body in a slight shrug. Kunhang wanted to brush his hands through the dark strands of hair that seemed to flow with the same ease and painful softness as dandelion fur.

Kunhang wanted to be brave enough to kiss the boy as he once had.

“Here-” Dejun began to scramble with his pockets, “we should exchange number-”

“May I come in? For a cup of coffee, maybe?” Dejun stopped moving, turning his eyes upward slowly with a small frown.

“You just had coffee. You’re going to be late to the airport, Kunhang.”

“I won’t, it’ll just be a minute. We can get ourselves sorted with numbers there, it’ll be easier.”

Dejun seemed to debate a moment before he nodded, pushing his hip into the door as he unlocked it and then allowing it to slide open with the added pressure. A puff of warm air floated in a battle against the crisp fall breeze.

The boy flicked a switch and warm light poured onto his porch before Kunhang pulled the door shut, slicing the source off and leaving the cement to lie dark below the slowly blackening sky.

The apartment was small, the door opening to a joint kitchen and living space; he could see the boy’s bed from where he stood, the sheets mussed; and he walked forward tentatively. Autumnal colors – khakis and beiges strewn alongside blankets of greens – intermingled with the bright spines of books that sat stacked against walls. It was cozy, with its mellow color and lightbulbs of yellowing glows.

“Did you actually want coffee or would tea be better – you could try and sleep through your flight?” Kunhang glanced toward Dejun with raised eyebrows, turning from where he’d been surveying a jar of wilting roses, their petals discolored to an ashen pink and seemingly forgotten to be tended to – a test of time for the aging pair.

“Whatever is easier for you.”

“You can put on some music if you like – I have a CD player by the couch. I’ll get a piece of paper and pen and then you’ll be able to head out.” Dejun peered a head around the cupboard door he’d flung open, ransacking the boxes within in search of chamomile leaves. “You’ll get to pretend you’re in a movie – running frantically through the airport and all.”

Kunhang snorted and flicked through the plastic CD cases, skimming over each title of classical music to big bang jazz before he pulled a brittle disc from a cracked case. The stereo began to hum with a violin and Kunhang spun around to grin toward Dejun as the boy looked up.

“Swan Lake is one of my favorites.”

Kunhang lifted the poorly maintained case, “I can tell.”

“Did you know it wasn’t popular when it premiered? Both the _pas de deuxs_ are so rigorous – this act’s is my favorite musically. Have you ever seen it performed?” Dejun had stepped away from the kitchen, approaching where Kunhang sat on the couch. “Dancers are so powerful – I saw it at the Royal Opera House and I swear every moment left me breathless. Nothing can compare to seeing performances like that live.”

Dejun had begun to twirl around the living room, twisting with each lilt of the violin. His body seemed to be seized by the vibratos and crescendos of the bow pulled across the strings, a laugh flitting through the air as though it belonged alongside the music, and Kunhang leant back into the cushions of the couch.

He could’ve died in that moment, and he would not have found it in himself to mind. There - surrounded by all that Dejun; his home, his books, his music, his _dance_ \- Kunhang could leave the earth with a happiness so complete and a time so endless as Dejun seemed to stretch it like putty in his hands that grasped at air. If Kunhang could remain with Dejun forever - if he could leave his plane behind, could return to a porch step or a diner booth or a park bench and remain there forever - let him die to finally live.

The boy’s motions were fluid, though his feet stumbled with the unease of lack of training, and Kunhang’s lips pulled apart with a bright grin. Dejun’s arms were sprawled wide around him as his feet lifted slightly from the ground in a twirl and Kunhang felt his chest bloom with a warmth that seemed to push outward against his ribs.

Dejun glided across the floor, his chest heaving slightly with a mix of laughter and exertion, and his eyes clashed with Kunhang’s. Time seemed to slow for him with the other’s grins and curves, the arch of his back smooth like the rounding of a flower petal, and he spoke in a singsong tone: “Baby, you’re going to miss that plane.”

Kunhang nodded, his eyes tracking the boy’s dance with a saddened longing.

“I know.”

☼

_out of nowhere, out of my blues_

The horizon burned pink with the blaze of the sun that sat just above the horizon. The sky above was dark with the falling night, stars shining brightly over them like glitter, and Kunhang tilted his head onto Dejun’s as it rested heavily against his shoulder. He turned and pressed a kiss against the hair that tickled his collarbone.

The air was crisp on the balcony, leaves scattered around them in a carpet of brown, and he inhaled deeply, allowing the burn of cool to scrape over the back of his throat. Kunhang felt the boy smile into his shoulder.

“Still there,” he whispered. The sun was dipping lower.

He lifted his head and pressed his mouth against Kunhang’s already swollen pair in a gentle kiss, tentative yearning seeping into their taste buds with a thickness like maple syrup from years spent with sole memory of the other’s press. Dejun turned back to the sky.

“Still there.” The stars burned brighter in the blackening backdrop of nightfall.

“Still there.” Dejun pressed his mouth below Kunhang’s ear.

“Still there.”

The burning orange of the sun dipped below sight, the streaking colors of warmth in the sky dissolving into indigo and lavender. Kunhang turned to face the smile placed delicately over Dejun’s complexion as the boy whispered tentatively into the dark – into the affirmation of Kunhang’s permanence.

_let me sing you a waltz_

_about this lovely one night thing_

“Gone.”

☼

**Author's Note:**

> a ha ha so they don't meet in four years...
> 
> but, if you enjoyed this, i highly recommend watching the original movies because they are brilliant ! I tweaked it a bit and made it a /lot/ happier (there are 3 movies and the last is very sad) so if you can handle the angst, tune in to the films !
> 
> (also, can we talk about how brave dejun is? i'd have /never/ danced in front of anyone.


End file.
